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"Then Ned Ferry doesn't drink?"

The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

The man who had got me into this thing--this barrel--lifted the tent-flap. "Mr. Gholson," said the General, "write an order assigning Smith to Ferry's scouts."

"Oh!--don't you wish you knew! Why, to myself, for instance. Come! duty calls."

"My God! she shall not!" I cried, and whirled about and galloped back.

"But if she--oh, yes!--Yes, to be sure; she could easily have got here yesterday afternoon."

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